You Don't Understand
by SusieLivesInNarnia
Summary: No one understands what Arthur has to go through. No one realises how hard it is having a monster inhabiting your mind. Nor do they see that the torture he must go through has already pushed him to the brink of insanity. But he tries to fight back, he really does. But nothing really matters anymore. Not now. Insane!Arthur. T for now but rating may go up for possible gore. Two-shot.
1. In This Place

**Okay so I got bored and decided to do this :) It's a two-shot, I'll hopefully have the next chapter up today or tomorrow! I hope you like it!**

* * *

Arthur stared at the mirror. The glossy surface made the bright light from the ceiling lamp flash into the Brit's eyes, but not once did he flinch. He remained with his eyes glued to his reflection, or more accurately, what was left of it.

His once dirty blonde hair had become matted and covered with sweat from the dampness of his forehead and scalp. His emerald green eyes were now dull, and Arthur found them unreadable in his current state. They no longer caught any light, making his face seem hollow and empty. There were large bags underneath his eyes, and alongside the now gaunt structure of his face, with hollow cheeks and pale skin, they made him look as though he hadn't slept in weeks.

But that was the thing. He _hadn't_ slept in weeks. He had been kept awake by those sounds. _Those voices_ inside his head, wanting to come out. They haunted him. It was almost as if Arthur could see them grinning at him, like they knew what they were doing to him. Then there was the screaming. Oh god, the screaming. They always wanted to escape. They always wanted help. But they never would. They didn't understand. They would never get out. Never escape. No one could help them. Not even Arthur. Especially not Arthur. For he was enslaved by the monster who trapped them here, in this god-awful place, for no one to find. He was doing the devil's bidding, he was was the lost and unholy prophet sent up from hell.

He couldn't be helped. No one could ever help him, let alone understand. That's what landed them here. In this place. They tried to help. They upset him. Nothing ever works out when he gets upset.

Arthur heard them again. The screams. The tremors from under the floor boards. Why couldn't they just shut up? Why couldn't they leave him be? Because they didn't understand. They didn't know what it was like. What it was like to be in Arthur's head. The images are enough to drive you mad, and the voices-... Well, the voices... They've already taken over. Driven him mad. Made him hurt people. His loved ones. His friends.

There is no room for friendship in this place. No room for compassion. It slows you down. Makes you weak. There is no room for weakness in this place either.

Arthur felt tears well up in his eyes, hearing familiar voices screaming his name. The trickling of the light liquid running down his cheeks no longer bothered him as it once did. Crying brought no relief to his heart. No comfort. It made the knot in his stomach tighten. He had felt it before. It felt as though a hand had almost reached into his abdomen and stolen the organs that resided there. It never made him better. Nothing ever did.

Sometimes Arthur wondered how long he had been in this house. How long had it been since he had seen the sun? Since he had felt grass? He couldn't quite recall. His mind had become a blank page in an empty book. He looked back at the mirror. He had lost all sense of how to smile a while back. He simply... Forgot. He didn't remember what it was like to laugh and be happy, to not have to worry.

'_You don't have to worry here, Arthur dear... I can take care of all of that for you...'_

There it was. The sickly sweet voice erupting in his head, telling him everything was going to be okay. But nothing was ever okay. Not here.

Accents of all kinds came from downstairs. American, French, Canadian, Japanese. All crying out for him. For his help. Why did they do that. He put them here. He could not help.

_'They don't matter anymore, love. They aren't worth it. They were always laughing at you, they never cared in the first place. They were purely using you for their own enjoyment and entertainment.'_

Arthur felt a siege of loneliness wash over him. There was no one here to comfort him, to tell him to calm down, to think. But he did think. All day and all night. He never did anything else. All he had was this voice, rolling around in his head and never leaving. Looking into his every thought and memory. Every fear, every desire. There was no hidden ideas, no secrets kept. No privacy in the mind of Arthur Kirkland. No, not here there wasn't.

Arthur traipsed across the room with the enthusiasm and fervour of a legless spider, and made his way towards the door. _That door._ The screams got louder, and sobbing pleas became more coherent. The pale and bony fingers of the Brit trembled as his hand inched towards the door handle and, once he had grasped the cold brass, he gripped it so tightly he felt he could never let go. The tension in his wrist building, Arthur twisted the doorknob and let the sweat bead his forehead once more, as the loud creak of the wooden slab of a door allowed a silence to pollute the room. As he walked down the steps in a torturously slow fashion, he saw glimpses of the beady lights in the room. The whimpers, the cries. He noticed tears rolled down a number of the inhabitants' faces. But Arthur noticed one thing about all their faces. They all held the same thing.

_Hope._

Arthur stared around, his face emotionless. He didn't know why they bothered. He glanced at the blood-stained walls and the trembling figures. There was no point in hoping. There is no room for hope. Not here. Not at all. Not in this place.


	2. Stop

Arthur never understood religion. Why bother praying to a being who can't hear you, for things that will never happen? The Brit watched slender fingers as they gripped the silver cross, a prayer in a language he didn't understand. He didn't like the hopelessness of it. He wanted the incoherent mumbling to stop. He walked over to the source and watched as the man in front of him cowered, but instead of stopping, the other blonde merely continued in a faster tone. Arthur didn't like this. Leaning forward, he gripped a chunk of the long hair. He noted that the once silky soft locks that should grace the man's head had now become greasy and unkempt. He also noticed, with great distaste, that there was in fact some dried blood around the roots. _'Looks like you hit him a bit too hard the other day, love~'. _Arthur mentally flinched. He hadn't wanted to hurt the poor bastard, he just wanted to get him out of the way before his worse half decided to join the party.

Terrified sapphires looked up but did not meet his eyes. They darted between aspects of the room, dodging the shorter blonde in front of him. It was a strange feeling, the one which Arthur currently felt. It made him feel sick, the way he pitied this once confident _mess_ of a human being.

That's what killed him the most. That he had so few emotions left. He could not remember what it was like to love the man before him, what it felt to be loved back. Who knew this would happen to him? But then again, we think back and wonder what people really thought of the Brit. Wonder how many people never _imagined_ this would happen.

Tears rolled down the man's cheeks as he pleaded to the ghost of the man in front of him. Arthur heard a blur of words.

_please. i love you. don't do this. i never did anything to hurt you. why are you doing this. i never wanted this to happen._

**_._**

**_No. Stop talking. I don't want to hear it. I can't take it._**

**_Stop._**

.

.

Arthur pulled the gun from his pocket, slowly but surely.

_wait no what are you doing. put it away arthur youre not in the right mind no._

**_._**

**_I have to do this. It's for your own good. And I know I'll be better off when I can't hear you._**

**_._**

The cold metal against his rough hands made him shudder, but he hoped the pain would cease once that trigger had been pulled.

.

.

_why are you doing this arthur please please arthur no arthur stop no don't do this arthur i love you ARTHUR NO PLEASE STOP I LOVE YOU ARTHUR STOP_

.

.

The gunshot rang through the room, dirtied faces scattered across the room contorted in horror as the blonde fell to the floor. Sobbing could be heard, but only if you listened closely. For there was a rattling of shackles as someone gently took a hold of the dead man and shook in terrified misery.

.

His lost love, his lost friend.

But he couldn't be gone. That couldn't have happened. Why had he done that? To cure his tortured mind, to feed his misery? As the blonde pulled the keys out of the pocket of the filthy old trousers, he looked around at the dewy-eyed faces, then back at the dead man in front of him.

.

Eyes still open, wide in serene pain.

So he reached down and pulled the eye lids closed.

_._

_._

_Emerald eyes. Never to be seen again._


End file.
